


A Lullaby for Coming Home Late

by MDJensen



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis Angsts, Breakfast, Gen, Modern AU, and athos is lovely, sleepy early morning boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos sets the plate down; the eggs smell like butter and heaven. Aramis raises his head and stares absently at the twin stains his tears have left on the tablecloth.</p><p>Aramis is sad. Athos makes him breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lullaby for Coming Home Late

**Author's Note:**

> Totally gratuitous bit of Aramis being weepy and Athos being a dear. Posting as-is because I've got three separate fics in the works right now and this fits into none of them. So I doubt I'll ever use this moment in a larger context, and if I do eventually-- oh well :)

Aramis hauls himself through the front door, then turns to lock the lock and draw the deadbolt that's been left open for him all night. There's a little moment of guilt. One of these days they'll be broken into and it'll be the fault of the one who couldn't get himself home before four in the morning.

Four? No, _Christ_ , Aramis realizes--

It's nearly six. No point in sleeping now.

Aramis sinks down at the kitchen table, kicks his pinchy shoes off, and waits for someone to awaken.

Around seven, Athos emerges; his presence is nearly enough to make Aramis cry, though for a moment relief is overridden by the instinct to lay bare his pain to no one. And Athos notices, of course-- it isn't difficult. Aramis hasn't seen a mirror since last night but he knows that a glimpse into one would reveal yesterday's clothes and red eyes underlined by purple.

Athos cocks his head a bit. His mouth isn't even open yet, isn't even yet forming the quiet _Aramis?_ that he knows is coming, and already it's too much.

“Don't,” Aramis snaps. “Don't.”

Athos' hair is an early morning disaster and his dressing gown is tied loosely over his plaid pyjama pants and threadbare t-shirt. He frowns at him a moment before nodding. “Breakfast?” he asks, calmly.

Aramis almost laughs. Instead he blinks and bleats out, “eggs?”

“Just eggs?”

“Yeah.” His stomach doesn't feel up to bacon or sausages or beans, but the thought of warm food is too appealing to reject entirely.

Athos seems to get it. He grabs the frying pan and says, “yolks?”

“Really yolky,” Aramis murmurs. Christ, but he's tired. He puts his head down and listens to the shuffle of Athos opening the fridge, lighting the stove, cracking the eggs, and washing his hands.

“Really yolky,” Athos says quietly, a minute or two later, and sets the plate down. The eggs smell like butter and heaven. Aramis raises his head, stares absently at the twin stains his tears have left on the tablecloth.

“Don't let them get cold,” Athos prompts. Aramis nods, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and picks up his fork.

Athos has salted the eggs. It's a strange sensation to taste that alongside the rubbery salinity of tears at the back of his throat. Nevertheless they're delicious. They're hot, with yolks that are unbroken and then runny, and somebody has given enough of a shit about him to cook them. That's probably the best part.

Athos returns a few minutes later with his own eggs, just as yolky, on toast and accompanied by bacon and a tomato. The tomato looks perfectly grilled. The seeds are pulpy and green behind the black speckles of a job well done, and Aramis pilfers a wedge and bites into it appreciatively.

Athos raises an eyebrow. “Would you like one?”

Aramis sniffles loudly, wiping the juice from his mouth. “No. Just wanted yours.” A few fresh tears tumble down his cheeks, and he accepts a bit of toast to chase the extra yolk around his plate.

They finish in silence. Athos carries the plates to the sink, runs the tap, and leaves it all to soak.

Aramis dabs his nose again, this time on a napkin. Sobs are building in his belly, but despite the slight queasiness they bring is he grateful for the meal.

And again Athos' gentle presence is at his side. “Why don't you have a shower,” he offers quietly, and touches his hand lightly to Aramis' greasy hair.

It's better than his own plan, which itself is nonexistent. So Aramis stumbles to the bathroom, runs the water hot, strips naked, and hunkers down under the steamy spray.

Then he cries.

Then he keeps crying.

Then he cries some more, before finally bothering to shampoo and wash, still crying. He doesn't stop until the water chills. Then he blows his nose on some toilet paper, wraps a towel around himself, and teeters to his room, where he shrugs into sweatpants and a hoodie.

In the living room, Athos is watching the news. He doesn't turn around when Aramis enters, but he's sitting on the bigger sofa, which seems a fairly clear invitation. Aramis accepts. Seconds later his head is on Athos' shoulder and his knees are in Athos' lap and Athos' arm is around his back, holding him steady.

He doesn't cry anymore. He's flushed all his tears down the drain along with the soapy water-- though as Athos squeezes his arm he finds a couple of tiny sobs left over, and lets them slip from his mouth. His hair is soaking Athos' clothes. He's still warm from the shower, though, which is nice, and the smell of his own shampoo mixed with the not-unpleasant smell of Athos' unwashed hair is calming in a way he doesn't expect.

Aramis is exhausted. He hasn't slept in fully a day now, and in his frenzy of weeping and washing he seems to have spilled all his energy down the drain as well.

The news is a meaningless drone on the tele. Athos' breathing is soft and even, and his hand has not abandoned Aramis' arm, although it is rubbing now instead of squeezing.

And like this, just like this, Aramis falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Make your decision as to why Aramis was sad/coming home so late. I'm just happy Athos was there to coddle him a bit :)


End file.
